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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770684">Objet Trouvé</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn'>LogicGunn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Long Dark [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stargate Atlantis, The Long Dark (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternating Universe - The Long Dark Fusion, Corvids, Fluff, John's POV, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, Survival</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:14:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's leaving them gifts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rodney McKay/John Sheppard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Long Dark [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Objet Trouvé</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyBopper/gifts">BunnyBopper</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my wife, BunnyBopper, whose Corvid obsession has sucked me in.</p><p>Objet Trouvé = Found Object Art</p><p>This fic came from a couple of Tumblr posts that I saw recently about crows leaving gifts for people who regularly feed them. Seemed like a good prompt for some McSheppy fluff.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time he sees one, he doesn’t recognise the significance of it so he just picks it up and puts it in the stove, muttering to Rodney about how even here in the back of beyond there is strewn rubbish all over the place. He assumes some wind in the night blew it through the forest and dumped it on their doormat outside the back door, leaving him to pick up someone else’s refuse. (He doesn’t stop to consider that there hasn’t been the barest hint of a breeze for three days now.)  </p><hr/><p>The second time he sees one he does a double-take. He’s having déjà vu; there’s no other explanation as to why two days in a row he’s almost stumbled over a pine twig with a pull tab threaded onto it. It’s lying on the doormat (again), right where his left foot wants to be. He picks it up wearily and inspects it, turning it over in his hands to check for some kind of hidden meaning. Finding none, he throws it in the stove and forgets about it, getting on with his day of chopping firewood and throwing sticks for Miska.  </p><hr/><p>The third time he sees one he thinks he’s onto something; that Rodney is either playing a trick on him or is leaving him some kind of bizarre courtship gift outside the back door every day for three days running. They’ve been kind of together for a few months now, all through the long polar night and into the return of the sun. Neither of them has a particularly good track record with relationships (John has a failed marriage under his belt and Rodney...well...he’s quiet enough about his romantic history for John to know it wasn’t smooth sailing). It does seem like the kind of awkward romantic thing he might do, so this time he doesn’t burn it; he leaves it on the corner of counter space that he’s claimed for himself and muses over it while he does a sudoku puzzle from one of the old newspapers lying around.  </p><p>“What’s that?” asks Rodney, dumping a cup of herbal tea in front of John.  </p><p>“Hmm?”  </p><p>“Your twig. Is that a pull tab?”  </p><p>“Oh. Found it. Outside.”  </p><p>“You’re collecting rubbish now?”  </p><p>“I kinda thought you made it.”  </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. I might not have a creative bone in my body, but even I wouldn’t make something so banal.”  </p><p>John folds his newspaper and drops it on the counter. “If you didn’t make it, who did?”  </p><p>“Why does someone have to have made it? It could easily have been done by the wind.”  </p><p>“Three days in a row I’ve found one of these on the doormat outside.”  </p><p>Rodney’s face drops and his skin pales. “Oh my God. Oh my God, we’re being stalked again. Where’s the gun?”  </p><p>“Rodney-”  </p><p>“Where is it?”  </p><p>“It’s where it always is, hanging up by the front door.”  </p><p>Rodney turns to get it but John grabs him by the arm.   </p><p>“John-”  </p><p>“Rodney, I don’t think a person did this.”  </p><p>“How can you be so sure?”  </p><p>“Cause Miska would have let us know if someone was sneaking around.”  </p><p>“Oh, well, that’s...yes, okay, I suppose you’re right.”  </p><p>“Are you sure it’s not you?”  </p><p>“Of course it’s not me. I might be a genius but I’m not prone to bouts of insanity.”  </p><p>John has a sarcastic comment to make just on the tip of his tongue, but if he’s learned one thing these past few months it’s not to poke Rodney when he’s feeling vulnerable. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says instead.   </p><p>Rodney goes back to the stove, muttering about safety in numbers and how he’s already killed a man and he’ll kill another if he has to. John thinks that maybe a distraction is in order so he slides off the stool and stalks his prey, pouncing just before Rodney picks up the pan full of water.   </p><p>“Come to bed with me,” he whispers in Rodney’s ear and feels him shiver under his hands. He pulls Rodney upstairs and diverts his attention to their bodies, naked and entwined under the covers.  </p><hr/><p>The fourth time he’s ready for it, waiting at dawn by the upstairs window, watching as Rodney steps outside in his winter jacket and boots and scatters something onto the snow out back. When he comes back in John ambles downstairs, and confronts him.  </p><p>“What were you doing?”  </p><p>“Feeding the crows.”  </p><p>“With what?”  </p><p>Rodney looks at John like he’s an idiot. “The citrus contaminated desserts from the MREs.”  </p><p>“Why?”  </p><p>“Crows are scavengers, it must be really hard to find food in the winter. I’ve been doing this for weeks now. I told you I was going to.”  </p><p>Now that he thinks on it, he remembers Rodney talking about the birds in bed on a particularly cold night, but he thought it was just post-coital rambling. “You feed them every day?”  </p><p>“Yeah. Two adult crows, one male, one female. I think they’re a mated pair. I’m trying to take care of them, life is hard out here.”  </p><p>That’s just about the sweetest thing Rodney has ever said and it sparks a warmth in John’s chest. “You sap,” he says, trying to cover up his own sappy feelings. “C’mere.” John pulls him into a hug, slipping his hands underneath Rodney’s open jacket. “You’re something else, you know that?”  </p><p>“If you say so.” Rodney slides off his jacket and returns the hug. “Wanna see them?” he asks.  </p><p>“Sure. Why not.”  </p><p>They go upstairs to the back window and wait. It isn’t long before two crows come swooping down from the tree-tops, landing gently on the snow just outside the back door. One of them has something in its mouth.  </p><p>“Oh my God,” says Rodney. “You don’t think...”  </p><p>“Yeah, I do.”  </p><p>The crow drops what it’s carrying on the doormat, then flitters around to eat up the crumbs that Rodney left for them. It’s a matter of minutes before they fly off together, all traces of food vanished from the ground. Rodney rushes downstairs and opens the back door, grabbing the item off the mat. It’s a twig with an old earring threaded onto it.  </p><p>“Look what they left us!”  </p><p>“Another one?”  </p><p>“It’s an earring. That’s awesome.”  </p><p>“You thought it was banal before!”  </p><p>“That’s before I knew it came from a crow. Corvids are very intelligent. This is...this is art! This isn’t just leaving gifts, it’s <em> making </em> gifts. That’s as much a sign of intelligence as tool use! God, I wish we had access to email. There’s a Doctor Joshua Klein in New York that studies corvid intelligence. He’d be thrilled to hear about this new behaviour we’ve observed.”  </p><p>“You sure know a lot of scientists.”  </p><p>“I used to be subscribed to Scientific American. It’s good to know what other disciplines are doing, all branches of science intersect somewhere.”  </p><p>John considers the pantry, the bottom shelf full of inedible foodstuffs due to Rodney’s allergy. It’s a finite resource, it'll be depleted in a few weeks. "What are you going to do when you run out of food to give them?”  </p><p>“I’m going to dig up the ground to make it easier for them to get worms. Make a patch out back that I rake every day.”  </p><p>“I’ll give you a hand with that, buddy,” says John, already planning a suitable location to dig up on the slope of the hill out back. Between the two of them, they’ll make a sizeable patch. Who knows, maybe they could try planting something. There are berry bushes that grow readily in the forest. Poisonous to humans but he’s seen crows pick at them. Between worms and berries maybe Rodney’s new friends will hang around permanently. It’d be nice to have regular visitors. He goes to find his jacket and boots. Might as well make a start today, who knows what surprises tomorrow will bring.  </p>
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